When You Wish Upon a Star
by Dragonsong5
Summary: It's been 2 long weeks since Sherlock's suicide, and John is still depressed; he can't eat, sleep or talk to anyone. Until one night, he sees a shooting star and wishes for the thing he longs for the most, even if the chances are impossible. He believed in Sherlock then, and he believes in him now. He just prays he comes before he pulls the trigger..


When You Wish Upon a Star

**_When you wish upon a star  
Makes no difference who you are  
Anything your heart desires  
Will come to you…_**

The summer noon was warm and sunny, but even the beautiful warmth couldn't uplift John as he slowly walked through the busy town. It's been 2 weeks since Sherlock's suicide, and John showed no sign of getting better. Every night, the untimely death of his best friend came back to haunt him in his dreams, nothing could make him happy; Not Harry, not Sarah, not even his work; it brought back to many memories.

As he carried on walking he noticed a market was going on in the Town Square, and since he had nothing better to do, he decided to see what there was to buy, not knowing just who he would see... He stopped by a stall where a man was selling a variety of dairy things and looked at the seller,

"Please could I buy a pint of milk?" He asked. He didn't need to buy as much milk as he had to since Sherlock used most of it for his tea, and even buying the damn stuff hurt his heart.

'_Sherlock, why did you leave me!?'_ He thought, gripping the front of the stall tightly to stop him from crying in the middle of town. The Stallman nodded and handed him a pint,

"Hey, I know you! You're that guy who solved cases with your friend, right?" He asked, his voice had a thick Derbyshire accent, "You saved my daughter when you were doing one, I'm…. I'm sorry about your friend."

John closed his eyes and sighed, "We_ used_ to solve cases, until he… He…" He stammered, but then opened his eyes angrily, "He wasn't a fake! I don't care what anyone says! He wasn't a fake…"

He sighed again and stared at the floor in regret, he sensed the man blinking in surprise.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that, it's just-" He began to apologize, not looking up. Until he heard a quiet, yet familiar voice talking from a distance away, he span around and could swear he saw someone walking from several yards away, talking on the phone.

'_Sherlock?..'_

John froze for a moment; he was tall, skinny, had brown hair, cheek bones that could cut you by just looking at them and a high-ish pitched, sarcastic voice… No, it couldn't be. His mind was surely just playing with him… But it looked so real. Of course, there was a high- if not _certain_- chance that this person just happened to look like Sherlock, but John was willing to take the risk,

"Sherlock!" He called out, hoping he would turn around, but he didn't. Instead, he just began to merge into the large, busy crowd. John dropped his milk and began to run, keeping his eye on him,

"Sherlock! Wait!" He called out again, much more loudly, but it was too late; he lost him… again.

John looked around quickly, he swore he saw him; no one else looked like Sherlock, because he was one of a kind. He tried to barge past the people in his way but there was too many. He kept on running, even though the chase was over. In the end he gave up and tried to catch his breath, then another voice called for him,

"John? Are you alright?" the voice asked, John turned around and saw Greg's concern gaze as he walked upto him. John shook his head,

"I saw him, Greg. I saw him…"

"Saw who? I'm surprised to could see anyone in this crowd…"

"Sherlock, Greg! I saw Sherlock, it was him!" John replied, almost shouting. He pointed to where he thought he saw Sherlock walking. Greg just blinked and nodded slowly, not believing any of it,

"John, I highly doubt it was Sherlock. I'm sure it was just someone who looked like-"

"No it wasn't! It wasn't someone who 'looked' like Sherlock, it was him! I saw him, I don't care what you think; I _don't_ care that you think he was fake and I _don't_ care if you think he's dead, I don't care anyone!" John shouted before storming off, away from Greg's confused stare.

'_Please come home, Sherlock. I miss you…'_

_._

* * *

_._

That same night, John watched the stars from his darkened bedroom, there were so many, they could light the whole of London if there was a power cut. While he was watching them, he noticed how every star had another star by their side, no star could get lonely because they could always turn around and find a new friend, John wished it was the same for him,

'_Lucky bastards…' _John thought depressingly,_ '7 billion people in the world, and I've never felt so alone in my entire life…'_

He picked up a pillow beside him and hugged it tightly, pretending that it was his best friend coming back. He imagined that they were watching the midnight- sky together, not giving a care in the world, but in the back of his mind he knew it could never happen, Sherlock was dead and that was that.

That thought hit him coldly as he hugged the pillow more tightly and began to cry into it,

"Sherlock," He cried, his mouth covered by the pillow, "I miss you; I miss you so God damn much! Why did you leave me? I loved you, you were my best friend in the whole world, nobody could replace you…"

As he continued crying, he looked through the window again and turned to the night sky, his eyes blurred with tears. Suddenly, he saw a shooting star fly across the sky,

'_A shooting star!'_ He thought. He then sighed and closed his eyes tightly,

"Sherlock, I know it was you I saw earlier," He whispered, his voice cracking, "I wish… I wish that you will come home to me. Even in the most impossible chances that you _were_ a fake, you were still my friend, and I want to you back… Please…"

He reopened his eyes and wiped away the last of his tears; he checked his watch and saw how late it was. Reluctantly, he climbed into his cold bed, still wrapping his arms around his pillow,

"Come home… Please come home…" He sobbed quietly, before drifting off to sleep.

.

* * *

.

"Goodbye, John…" Sherlock's voice croaked. John watched from the bottom of St. Bart's hospital, his heart pounding in fear. His voice shook as he spoke,

"No.. Don't-" He pleaded, not able to finish his sentence. Tears began to form in his eyes. What was Sherlock doing!? John could see him standing on top of St. Bart's hospital, Sherlock had just told him that he was a fake, but John didn't believe him; John believed that he was real, he believed that Sherlock was his best friend, his roommate, his partner, the closest thing he had to loving someone, and now he was about to kill himself…

John saw Sherlock tossing his phone away, he couldn't get to him now.

"No- Sherlock!" He cried loudly, louder than he has ever cried before. He wanted to run to catch him, but he was stuck where he was, he couldn't move, all he could do was watch.

His eyes widened at he saw Sherlock jump from the roof, falling down hundreds of feet, plummeting towards the ground,

"Sh- Sherlock…" He whispered, not able to make a sound louder than that, slowly bringing his phone down from his ear. He lost sight of him after the garage infront of him blocked him, but his spine was chilled to the core after he heard a loud crack on the ground. His stomach aching with fear.

It was only then was he able to move from where he was standing, he ran towards where Sherlock landed, shaking from head-to-toe until he was knocked over by someone on a bicycle. He slammed his head on the pavement his vision was blurry, he movements were a lot slower but he managed to limp towards the group of people who were crowding around Sherlock, his dead body drenched in his own blood,

"He's my friend, let me through," He cried, his voice cracking in pain, "He's my friend, please…"

John picked up Sherlock's wrist and prayed for a pulse. Nothing. He was dead. John dropped to his knees as Sherlock was carried off into an ambulance. He paid no attention to anyone else around him, what was the point? There was nothing more to life now, he had just lost half of what he lived for and his heart shattered into a million pieces.

"Sherlock… No…" He whimpered, wanting to shout at the top of his voice, "Sherlock!"

.

* * *

.

John's eyes opened in fear, he was sitting up on his bed, his body sticky from sweating. It was a dream. John was still shaking as he lied back down, that was the fourth time this week he had that same dream, why did his mind torture him like this? After several minutes he managed to calm his breath down, he sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to sleep in fear that he would dream of Sherlock again. He couldn't take it anymore.

John sat up and checked the time, it was only 4:30am and dawn was about the break. John and Sherlock sometimes watched the sunrise together if they couldn't get back to sleep, even though Sherlock could be an arse in the early mornings, he enjoyed their time together where it was just them and they weren't worrying about cases or murders.

John got up from his bed and walked into the living room, where he would normally expect to see Sherlock sitting in his chair or lying on the sofa, but of course, there was nobody there, and each time John realized that, it tore him apart from the inside.

He looked outside from the window and bent his head down, he was crying again. He was sick of being depressed all the time, he was sick of talking and expecting to hear Sherlock to give a sharp reply back, he was sick of living…

He turned to Sherlock's desk and reluctantly opened the top draw; John remembered putting Sherlock's gun there every time he shot the wall in boredom. He picked up his gun and sighed, was this really how he wanted to go? He tried to think of a positive thought that might convince him not to do what he was about to do, but every happy memory included Sherlock, even the saddest memories had Sherlock in them. There was nothing that could change his mind now.

He slowly brought the gun to his head and felt a tear roll down his cheek as he bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming,

"I'll see you there, Sherlock," He whispered, before pressing his finger on the trigger, he didn't even notice the door opening behind him,

"John, stop!" A voice shouted out, John opened his eyes and slowly turned around. It was him. Sherlock was standing at his doorway, his eyes widened in fear.

"Sh… Sherlock…" John whispered, bringing the gun down from his head. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was this real? Was this another dream? No, it wasn't… But it was a dream come true.

Sherlock sighed in relief when he was John dropping his gun on the floor and returning his surprised gaze. He fully turned around and carried on shaking, but Sherlock just smiled,

"You wanted me to come home, didn't you?" He asked, his eyes gleaming as tears were about to form. John was still shaking but he ran up to him and wrapped his arms around him as Sherlock did the same. He rested his face against Sherlock's chest. He was alive. He was alive and real.

"Sherlock…" He whispered again as he bit his lip, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock gripped onto him and didn't let go,

"It's ok, John. I'm back, and I'm here for good…" He whispered in his ear, "I promise to never leave you again, as long as you promise to not leave me."

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and gave the first genuine smile he had ever given for so long,

"I promise." He replied, giving a small sigh in happiness as he leant against him. Suddenly, his life felt worth living now that Sherlock was back, he never wanted to be sad again, he was more happy than he had ever felt before, and it was all thanks to Sherlock.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for coming home…" John sniffed, "I love you…"

"No John, thank _you_ for giving me a reason to come home." He replied, resting his chin on John's head, "You're a true friend, maybe even more than a friend. I love you too, and _nothing_ will ever change my mind…"

And for once, John felt like nothing could make him happier, his life was worth living again. So long as Sherlock was by his side, he could face through anything. As long as Sherlock loved him, he never wanted to leave.

'_Thank you, Sherlock,'_ He thought to himself, smiling brightly,_ 'and thank you, wishing star, you really do make dreams come true…'_

**The End.**


End file.
